CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
King Erik
This is the moment. This is the moment to tell Glen how much he means to me. This is the moment, potentially, for me to make a huge fool of myself.
Hope and excitement flutter through me, emotions suddenly so powerful that they cause my chest to careen.
I care about Glen. Far more than I expected to care about anyone after Sissel passed. I can’t let him leave without telling him. He understands me in a way no one else does. We might be different, but somehow, we fit together.
I was drawn to him from the moment I saw him on the ladder in the lounge hanging mistletoe and our eyes locked.
Pings and chimes sound, and people retrieve their phones from their silk bags.
Heads turn in my direction, and a coldness that wasn’t there before, emanates the room. Eyebrows raise, jaws drop.
Glen frowns. “Everyone is looking at us.”
“We’re a handsome couple.” I continue to dance, because this needs to be like it was before. This needs to be... happy. But I already feel like the happiness I had within reach is swirling away.
Faces are shocked. And they’re not supposed to be.
“Something’s wrong,” Glen says.
“I think you’re right,” I admit reluctantly.
Olav marches toward us, his feet clicking against the floorboards. “I suggest you visit the conference room, Your Majesty.”
I turn to Glen. “I’m sorry. International matters can happen quickly.”
“Both of you,” Olav says.
“Then this isn’t a crisis?”
“Oh, it is.” With that, Olav drags me and Glen from the ballroom.
I feel the gazes of confused guests on me, and the music is suddenly crisp and clear.
No one speaks, no one laughs, no one even shuffles their feet over the dancefloor.
I’ve pondered over the years what it would be like to date a man. Olav was right to push me about it. Is this the consequence of that? Are people quiet and shocked because Glen and I were dancing? Were they fine in theory, and not in practice?
Or did something else happen?
Because I know the Solbergian people. They wouldn’t suddenly have abandoned me. They might have been surprised... but not cruel.
Which means...
By Solberg, that means something else happened. My nerves skitter.
“Where’s Anders?” I swing my gaze around.
“Anders is fine,” Olav says quickly. “I took the precaution of ushering Max and him out of the ballroom.”
“Oh.” Anders won’t like that. He was on his date with Tina.
“Did something... global happen?” I ask.
“In a sense.”
My eyes widen.
Solberg is small. Did Norway finally invade? No, surely not. That hasn’t been a serious concern for at least a century. But perhaps somebody in one of our embassies overseas was harmed?
Olav leads us to a conference room, and Glen and I sit down.
“What’s this about?” Thousands of potential scenarios fling themselves into my mind.
Olav presses a button, and the large screen flicks on. A video plays.
Lena Haugeland appears, and a queasy feeling settles in my gut.
Her eyes are bright and intelligent. She’s got a scoop, and she knows it.
“Good evening,” Lena says. “This is Lena Haugeland from Solberg Chronicles reporting live. We have received exclusive footage, and it is shocking.”
The screen cuts to cellphone coverage of Glen crashing through the airport wall on his tree.
“One can only wonder,” Lena says, “If King Erik met Glen Garland on the king’s first day in Nevada, how could they have been secretly dating?” Her face sobers. “They couldn’t have been. The king has been lying to everyone.”
Olav shuts off the video. King Erik and Glen stare at the screen, shocked.
“Understandably, this video has not thrilled the public,” Olav says.
I close my eyes. I can’t look at him. What have I done? “I’m sorry.”
“We need to strategize a response.”
“Of course.”
I’ll release the pre-written statements,” Olav says, and I’m grateful that he seems to have some plan. “A grieving man made a poor decision. Glen will be sent home.”
Glen stiffens beside me.
I want to draw him into my arms and tell him that’s not the case... But Glen is supposed to leave Solberg the day after tomorrow anyway.
“Then you’ll announce that you respect your people too much to continue this charade,” Olav says in his customary brisk manner.
“You already wrote the PR?” I ask.
“I am very efficient, Your Majesty. I’ve crafted letters for every conceivable emergency. If Norway invades, if the almond supply dwindles.” Olav hesitates. “What is the nature of your relationship with Mr. Garland?”
I squirm under Olav’s gaze. After Glen and I kissed in public, I told Olav that Glen and I were simply friends. Olav had been disappointed, but he’d believed me.
What are Glen and I now? Is this where I tell my royal advisor, my childhood classmate, that Glen has been sneaking into my bedroom every night? But that we haven’t had a formal discussion?
Shame prickles me.
Solberg is suffering. I caused their confusion. I need to resolve this. Soon.
I close my eyes. “Perhaps you should send the e-mail.”
“Okay,” a bright voice says. “E-mail sent.”
I blink. “Who was that?”
“That, Your Majesty, was the AI Agent I installed to take over duties.” Olav’s face is twisted. “You said ‘you should send the e-mail’.”
“I said ‘perhaps’ first. I said ‘perhaps you should send the e-mail’.”
“The technology is still developing.”
“So it’s sent it? Just like that?”
Olav frowns. “That is how e-mail works. The process is immediate.”
“Perhaps we could explain...” Glen begins, then he halts.
I don’t want Glen to go. I was going to ask Glen to stay. But can I do that now?
“Solberg comes first,” I tell Glen. I don’t look at him. I can’t.
Maybe he was always going to go home. Maybe even if I’d asked him to stay, he would have reminded me that he has a home somewhere else.
He doesn’t even speak the language. Would he have wanted to change his whole life so much for me?
I scrunch my fingers together. This is the end. “Thank you, Glen. For everything. I’ll never forget you.”
“You should leave as soon as possible,” Olav tells Glen. “Your presence will irritate the population.”
Glen’s face whitens, but he gives a curt nod. “I wouldn’t want that...”
“There’s a flight out of the country tomorrow,” Olav says. “We’ll book seats for Max and you.”
Glen flinches, but I remember Glen hates flying.
“Okay.” Glen goes to the door, then turns to look at me. “You know, your population loves you. They only want you to be happy. I hope you can be.”
GLEN
The music is stronger in the hallway, and I march toward my room. My eyes blur, and the glittering flames on dozens of candles blur. A footman appears, and I nod, but I quicken my pace in case he wants to offer me a sympathetic smile or something.
How could I do this? How could I fall for a king? I know better than that. This was always supposed to be seven days of make-believe. Well, I got six. I’ll be on a flight on December 25th now, not December 26th.
It’s all fine. I’m a cowboy contractor. I’m not supposed to escort a king around a ballroom. Cowboys don’t date royalty.
I push open the door to my bedroom, then reach for my cufflinks. I remove them carefully, even though I want to yank them off and throw them against the wall.
I pack my clothes. The holiday is over. How could I have believed the lie?
Erik didn’t say goodbye. He was silent and still, like the statues of his ancestors in the Painting Gallery.
“Dad?” Max knocks on the door, and I run forward and swoop him into my arms.
I hug him tightly to my chest, and this time, tears burn my eyes. Am I turning into a sap in my middle age?
I give an awkward laugh.
“Is everything okay?” Max asks.
“Yup.” I put him down. His eyes turn to the suitcase on the chair. “What are you doing?”
“I’m packing.”
“The ball is still happening.”
“Reckon it is.”
He stares at me. “Why aren’t you there?”
I sigh, then glue on a cheerful smile. It’s a bit wobbly, but how can I tell Max that I allowed myself to feel things I’ve never felt for another man except his Papa? That I’d forgotten that my memories of life with Dean were enough? That I’d hoped for more?
“Because I got to pack,” I say. “We got an earlier flight to Nevada! We’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Oh.” He blinks up at me.
“You better pack too,” I tell him.
He’s silent, then he gives me a curt nod. “Okay, Dad.” He chews on his bottom lip. “I’m going to miss it here.”
I want to tell him he doesn’t need to miss Solberg, that Nevada is far superior, and yes, Nevada definitely has its strong points. But I know this is about missing Anders and Erik.
“Sometimes life is sad,” I say. “I’ll miss it too.” My voice cracks when I say the last word.
Max’s eyes widen.
“Give me a hug,” I say. “Then you go off to pack.”
Max pulls me in tightly, then leaves.
When tears burn my eyes, I shake my head. “Idiot.”